September 11, 2011

Dear Andy

Dear Andy,

It's 7:30 in the morning and I'm staring out the window of a hotel room in Stamford, Connecticut. As I gaze out across the Long Island Sound, I can't help but be struck by how beautifully clear and sunny the sky is today. It's so strangely similar to that day ten years ago when we lost you, it almost sends shivers down my spine.

Ten years.

Kyle and I had drinks with your sister recently and we were talking about the passage of time. Susan was saying how hard it was to believe that it's been ten long years since she heard your voice, ten long years since she listened to your laugh, and ten long years since she saw your face. Would none of that really never happen again?

For me, I don't know what to think. When it comes to you, time has lost any sort of meaning. Sometimes, I feel as if 9/11 occured just yesterday. Other times, it feels like a lifetime ago.

All I really know is what I feel...and what I miss.

I miss walking into my office every morning and knowing that you were going to call at any moment. My mornings are lonelier for it.

I miss those evenings when we'd be out with a group of people but whenever you'd see me leaving, you'd make sure to give me a hug and say, "I love you, brother. Talk to you tomorrow."

I miss those late-night conversations out at the beach where we'd just grab a few beers, sit out on the deck, talk about life, and laugh about the absurdity of it all.

I miss our Monday night Chinese-food-and-a-movie adventures. It was one of my fondest weekly rituals. I don't think we've done it since you've been gone. It could never be the same without you.

God, has it really been ten years?

Collectively as a nation, there seems to be a sense of amnesia about 9/11. People want to remember the event but, at the same time, they want to get past that lingering sense of loss. It happens less in New York but you can feel it.

I get it. Bad things happen. Darkness descends. And putting personal tragedies behind us in order to move forward is an intrinsic part of life.

But how do you hold on to the things that are truly transecendentally important? How do you remember the parts of a person that that are also a part of you? What does it mean to get over the loss of a loved one?

As the writer Haruki Murakami once said, "no matter how much suffering you went through, you never want to let go of those memories."

Sometimes it saddens me that those memories are slipping away.

But ten years on, I do know that whenever I’m feeling alone in a room, the person I still always hope to see is you. Because I want to tell you about this amazing song that you'd love or about a hilarious movie that we need to see. I want to hear that infectious laugh that always cheered up my day. I want to skip work, grab a few beers and throw footballs in Central Park all day. Or I want to spontaneously jump on a plane to Miami with our best friends for one of those amazing long weekends in Miami where we'd laugh so hard that tears would be streaming down our faces.

Speaking of our friends (whom you always lovingly referred to as "la famiglia"), you'd still laugh your ass off if you saw us now. Life may change but somehow it still remains the same. We're a little older and a little grayer but, at the end of the day, we're still that same old bunch of silly misfits. As a group, we don't see each other nearly as much as we should. Maybe it's because we're all getting older and are busy with our own lives. But really, I think we all know it's because you were always the glue that held us all together.

We all miss you, Andy. You're still very much a part of our lives. We think about you all the time and we miss you as much today as when we first lost you. We can be anywhere in the world and one of us will quietly raise a glass and simply say, "To GoGo." Without fail, tears will always come to our eyes as we take a moment to remember how much we miss and love you.

Tonight we'll have dinner with your family, drink too much wine, and tell our favorite stories about you. We'll focus less on the loss and more on the joy that you brought into our lives. We'll mask grief with mirth. We'll trade bitterness for optimism. And as always, we'll take comfort in the tragedy of this day by being with our loved ones.

Comments

You can follow this conversation by subscribing to the comment feed for this post.

As I have done each year since I've known you, I will be making a donation to http://www.seo-usa.org/andrewgolkinfund/index.html in memory of Andy and the others lost that day, and this year I'm adding it also be in honor of my friendship with you.
Love to you, Pierre.

I also come to your site each year to read your poignant letter to Andy. As I sit here in South Louisiana, thousands of miles from New York, my heart is heavy and it hurts to watch the footage of this event. I have not forgotten....God Bless you!

The rippling effects of this day and the number of people it directly impacted floors me, especially when put into context by tragic stories like this. I'm very sorry for Andy and for those who now have a void where he once existed beyond only a memory.

Thinking of you on the anniversary of such a day of sadness and tragedy. As I was reading the local paper this morning, it struck me that I needed to go and read your letter to your friend Andy. We moved away from NYC in 2004 but my a part of my heart is still there, today and everyday.

I've mostly avoided the media today, but I came here hoping you'd have another letter to your friend. It is the personal stories, not the nation-wide remembrance that means the most to me. Even though I don't know you or Andy.

Every year, MD, every year... even after a decade, you find beautiful words to convey your feelings for a friend who's no longer in this world. Wherever he is now, I hope he knows that he is loved and cherished so much! God bless you all.

I thought about you and your friend Andy yesterday as I watched the memorial coverage yesterday. I tried to explain to my daughter (who's 7) about what it was like that day. But I realized I don't know what it was like, because I'm here, not in NY.

I'm always so glad to see you working hard to remember, instead of working hard to forget. I hope I can do justice to people like Andy when I talk to my girl about 9/11.

As an RCS alumna (class of '90), I will always remember Andy in his varsity football uniform, his blue eyes shining so brightly against the maroon shirt. When I heard of his loss 10 yrs ago, I thought, "I'll never see those blue eyes sparkle again," and it made my heart sad. I wish you and Andy's family peace as you continue on your life journey without him.

Your letters to Andy have always made me cry, and this year's was no exception. I always think of you and Andy and his family and friends on the anniversary. It's good to know that while we move on, we do our best to not forget. God bless.

Your post every Sept 11 fills me with tears. I am sorry for your loss and thank you for reminding me that true friendships like yours and Andy exist. I believe you will meet Andy again and will laugh and speak with him like old times.

Damn it...I missed it. I tried to remember to come here and read your post about Andy. As it has been in the past- a superb remembrance.
I was driving for 24 hours that weekend. I counted how many overpasses in twelve hours (one way) had a flag or a remembrance. One. OH remembered. It said "Never Forgotten!"

Satellite's E-street channel played The Rising album-- which is a superb collection of songs regarding that day. And it was observed in Michigan's Big House with half-staff flags and patriotic songs.

I had a moment of silence for each of the towers collapses as I drove home to NC. I carried my piece of American flag fabric that has been in my car since 09-11-01 circa 9:31am am with me on the dash of the rental.

renee.satchell Posted on I just cried reading this. Wow!! How good is our God that He would let us exepirence the riches of his love and minister to his most prized possessions Praying you boys will continue to encounter and spread the tangible presence of God on your trip.

As I was reading the local paper this morning, it struck me that I needed to go and read your letter to your friend Andy. We moved away from NYC in 2004 but my a part of my heart is still there, today and everyday.

Your article September 11, I am filled with tears. I am very sorry for your loss, thank you for reminding me, you and Andy as there is a real friendship. I believe that you will encounter Andy a laugh and talk to him like old times.

Every year, medical doctor, every year... Even after ten years, you will find the beautiful words to express your feelings of a friend is no longer in this world. No matter he is now, I hope he knows that he is loved and cherished so much! God bless you.

When I read the local newspapers this morning, I suddenly realized that I need to read your letter to your friend Andy. We left New York in 2004, but part of me, my heart still exist, today and everyday.